ShiftingHeat (5 page)

His shocked gaze went down to his bare feet. She’d taken his
ankle bracelet. Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckety fuck. He had to get back to STORM,
fast. Or make contact. He glanced at the bedside table. No phone. Cheaper
hotels sometimes did away with phones, but with cell phones so prevalent,
people didn’t use them like they used to. Pity his cell was back at his
apartment in STORM.

He went back to the bed and tried to concentrate, to work on
his psi, to try to contact someone telepathically. The effort made his head
pound and he had to fight down a rising wave of nausea. He couldn’t do it,
couldn’t contact his other self. What the fuck had she given him?

The answer came fast. Cephalox. That would block his access
to his dragon self for a while to come. Surgeons used it to maintain a
shape-shifter’s form during procedures, stop involuntary shape-shifting, but
since it had entered a wider market, people used it to drug and capture
shape-shifters. He couldn’t use his psi, either. No telepathy. She’d
incapacitated him. Why hadn’t he brought some clothes with him, or some plastic
so he could send out for some?

Because he hadn’t been using his head. At least not the one
with his brain in it.

He leaned back because his head hurt less that way, and
thought.

He only had to get across the park. He jogged there most
mornings. The exercise would probably help to clear his head, as well.

With no clothes or cash it’d be tricky. He couldn’t even pay
for the room here, and he’d bet she hadn’t bothered.

How the fuck did he get out of this?

Half an hour later, a disheveled Andros jogged through the
main door of STORM. He’d stolen a hotel towel to cover his privates, fashioned
it into a loincloth. Otherwise he’d have been arrested for indecency. That law
still applied, even for shape-shifters who didn’t give a shit about nakedness.
He’d face security here if he had to. He’d have to fess up about the ankle
bracelet, anyway.

The only person in the chilly marble area was the
receptionist, who glanced up and grinned when she saw him. “You been out
partying?”

Thank God, someone he knew, someone who wouldn’t ask for his
identity, with any luck. He’d lunched with her in the cafeteria one time, even
tried to hit on her without much success. He forced a grin. “Something like
that. See this often, do you?”

She eyed him up and down and raised a brow. “Not often
enough.”

His hand went to the knot on his towel. Still securely tied.
He’d gotten a few stares, but as far as he knew, nobody had taken pictures.

He gave the receptionist a mock snarl and strode past to the
sound of her giggles. “You’re lucky they’re busy today,” the woman remarked. “I
can’t see the boss appreciating you arriving in that condition.”

Her words made him turn. “I thought it was a quiet day.” He
hadn’t heard of any new operations, anything that would make them extra busy,
and as one of the heads of departments, he’d have heard something.

She flapped her hand. “Oh, I don’t know. Lots of fussing,
and I’m supposed to check everybody who comes through.” She gave him a slow
perusal, up and down. Then she did it again. “So I checked you. And I’m
beginning to change my mind about that date.”

So was he. “I’ll call you. Right now I need to get out of
this—towel.”

The fuss could be anything. He could only hope that it
didn’t concern him and his missing ankle bracelet. Unlikely, but if it was,
he’d find someone waiting for him.

By some miracle the elevator car was empty. He stalked in
with a sigh of relief and stabbed the button for his floor.

When the elevator doors opened, Andros wasted no time in
hurrying to his apartment. This floor held several guest apartments and a few
residential ones. They’d given one to Andros when he was still disabled, and
he’d been there ever since. Going to work had never been so easy.

Luckily he didn’t bump into anyone on the way. He couldn’t
have borne the water cooler gossip. He’d have moved out first.

Back in his apartment, he ripped off the hated towel and
headed for the shower. After he’d washed his hair for the second time, he felt
the steam go out of his temper. He needed that. Needed to think properly. He let
himself relax under the spray, let his mind drift and open to ideas. And then
the thought came to him.

He knew where to start looking for her. She’d opened to him
for a fraction of time at the peak of her final orgasm and they’d melded minds.
He’d caught a few images and learned her pattern. Once in her vicinity he could
find her. And he knew where she was, because he recognized one of the images.
The old architecture was the center of the university where he’d signed up to
do a doctoral course. When his illness worsened, the course had helped to give
him something to live for, but on his conversion he’d given it up. He needed
time to learn how to be a dragon, how to cope with his new life, his new body.
So he’d dropped out. He always meant to go back.

He could get his ankle bracelet back. He tried an
experimental shape-shift. Oh yeah. It hurt, but he could do it, and when he
opened his mind, he could sense something. If he worked at it he could get that
back, no problem. She must have given him a small dose, because a full dose of cephalox
would have lasted twenty-four hours.

In a better frame of mind, he dressed, ran a comb through
his hair and left his apartment.

When he ventured downstairs to his office, Andros found
STORM in a state of controlled chaos. But nobody bothered him and nobody waited
outside his office. Once he’d closed the door behind him, he sighed in relief.

His office was a long, narrow room with shelves on each
side. At one time it had probably been a storeroom, but the shelves now bore a
selection of state-of-the-art computers and peripherals, as well as cables,
piles of paper and other junk. But Andros saw the order at once. He’d always
preferred order; in the days of crutches and wheelchairs, he’d needed the order.
Even though his sister always lived in an area that looked as if a bomb had hit
it. He grinned when he recalled how Johann, Ania’s lover, now husband, had
reacted to the chaos of the apartment they’d shared in L.A. Johann had imagined
someone had broken in and ransacked the place.

Andros wondered how they were managing to keep their New
York apartment tidy. Ania tended to scatter items in her wake. She created
nests, and everywhere she went she left something behind, a watch, a shopping
list, a discarded sweater. Their apartment certainly seemed tidy enough, but
maybe Johann was employing help. Besides, Ania had more than tidiness to occupy
her these days, because, like Andros himself, she’d been converted. But unlike
Andros, she’d become that rarest of Talents, a converted vampire. Since
vampires had to give up their lives in order to convert a mortal, that didn’t
happen very often.

Next to that change in lifestyle, tidiness seemed a paltry
matter.

Sitting at the computer, he booted up the nearest PC and
opened a web browser. He typed almost without thinking, having conducted many
searches before as part of his job. He always started with the common web
searching engines. It was amazing what he could find out just with those.

Ah. Result. He found a list of faculty at the university and
brought it up on the screen, together with the thumbnail photos. Yes, there she
was.

Fuck, she hadn’t even used her real name.

Well, he’d pay Ms. Faye McCauley a visit. Time he
resurrected his university career. Good time of year to do it too. He checked
the dates on the website. He’d be just in time to register. It closed at four
thirty today, although he rather imagined that Ann Reynolds could get him an
extension if he asked her to. And if he wanted to draw attention to himself, of
course.

He stretched, reaching his arms above his head, savoring the
ease with which he could do that, and caught sight of the pair of crutches
propped by the door. He didn’t need them anymore, but he kept them anyway.
Insurance, a reminder, or maybe he was just used to them. It wasn’t home unless
he had some crutches in sight. These were one of the pairs he’d customized in
his emo-goth days. Painted black, decorated with stick-on skulls, stars and
moons he’d found in a craft store, then sprayed with iridescent clear lacquer.
Flashy, but preferable to the boring gray or white hospital-issue ones. These
were forearm crutches, better designed ergonomically, meaning he could lean on
them and use his hands freely. He remembered his first pair, and how much better
he’d found them than the underarm type. While he couldn’t think of them as
happy days, they weren’t all bad. Maybe that was why he couldn’t completely
leave that time behind.

Leaving his office, he headed downstairs, crutches tucked
under his arm. If he’d learned one thing from his time here, it was not to give
adversaries any advantage. The last time he’d gone in to classes, he’d been in
a wheelchair. They had no idea about his conversion—very few people did.
There’d just been no reason to broadcast the fact, although he hadn’t made a
secret of it, either. Just didn’t go out much, nor had any call to. He’d make
it work for him now. About time the disease that had nearly ended his life gave
him some payback. If he came up against any problems, they’d assume he was weak,
and Faye hadn’t taken that ankle bracelet on a whim. She’d done it with a
purpose in mind, so she might have accomplices.

If she worked at the university, she lived nearby, near
enough to commute. But she’d rented a hotel room, which meant she didn’t want
to leave traces behind, which meant she’d planned it. If not him, then another
man. The thought was enough to make him growl low in his throat, but when his
companions in the elevator gave him raised brows and odd looks, he left off and
started to plan his revenge instead.

Faye sat at her desk and leafed through her list of students
for the term. Teaching literature could be exciting and it could be the most
tedious and frustrating experience in existence. It depended on the students.
She had a class of seventy to lecture to, and a group of five to mentor. None
of them appeared any different than the last bunch, but hidden gems were just
that—hidden—and she’d found one or two in her time here.

So much had happened since she last sat here—had it really
been only the day before yesterday?—that perhaps she should give herself some
time to catch up with events. Her fatigue could well be the reason she felt
like this—completely drained and demoralized. The adrenaline spike had thrown
her whole system off kilter.

She glanced up as the door opened, and smiled at Harken
Nordheim. He carefully closed the door behind him, looking far better than he
had a right to, considering his ordeal. When he took two large strides to sweep
her into his arms and give her a smacking kiss on each cheek, she laughed, a
little embarrassed. “Thanks, you beautiful thing,” he said. Harken was tall,
with gleaming gold and gray hair swept back from his high temples, gray eyes
and classical features. His tall frame wasn’t half bad, either. So why didn’t
he turn her on like Andros did? And why was she still thinking about Andros?
She’d set herself to forget, but so far that project had been an abject
failure.

“Hey, Harken, nice to see you too,” she said, trying to be
normal, not letting him see how profoundly last night’s adventure had affected
her. She needed to set it all in place in her own mind first.

He loosened his hold but kept her in the circle of his arms.
“You were fantastic. So cool, the way you put out those guards. I’m proud of
you.”

She’d hated that part but she shrugged, trying not to let it
show. That one telling moment when Harken had kicked the Sorcerer for no reason
other than revenge had concerned her. She already knew Harken had an arrogant
streak. Now she wondered how far that arrogance went. “They just weren’t
expecting an attack. I couldn’t have done it if I hadn’t set it up right.”

He cupped her cheek. “Did he hurt you? The guy you took the
ankle bracelet from?”

“No.” She pulled away and went back behind her desk, head down.
“He was okay. I felt a bit of a shit doing it, actually. Some geek who worked
at STORM.”

“Did you have to go all the way?” He stood on the other side
of the desk, placed his palms on the shiny surface and leaned forward. “Don’t
feel bad. You needed that ankle bracelet and all’s fair these days.” He didn’t
flinch, didn’t show any sign of distress on her behalf. Just triumph that
they’d done it.

Faye hated to admit that lurking thrill she felt, that she’d
broken into STORM and rescued a prisoner where so many others had failed. She’d
never heard of anyone escaping from that place before. But betraying Andros and
the hurt she’d inflicted on people only doing their jobs made her feel sick to
her stomach. Harken seemed to have none of her misgivings.

He didn’t care what she’d done to get that bracelet. He
didn’t give a shit, so long as she’d rescued him. That hurt the most. She’d
thought they had something, the start of a relationship maybe, but he hadn’t
shown any regret or anger that she’d fucked someone else. He’d paid her special
attention, told her some of his secrets. They’d shared a few enjoyable dates
and, while they had yet to go to bed together, she’d imagined it would be part
of the developing relationship. He still appeared to think so, but now she knew
that would never happen.

Finally he picked up on her less than ecstatic mood. Harken
rarely used psi, but this time she felt his light entry into her outer mind,
touching her concerns. Although mortal, he’d learned to use his innate
telepathy, the skill most mortals suppressed at birth without even knowing they
had it. Now some used it, and were taking classes in developing it.

He gave her a wry smile. “Listen, sweetheart, I know this
hurt. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. The guy won’t get into trouble—just get taken
to task, probably. You did right. He doesn’t know you, can’t trace you. Speke
isn’t the biggest university in New York, but it’s not the smallest, either.”
He touched her chin. “Hey, how about dinner one night?”